Family Picture

Leora laid on her bed at her penthouse. The usual butlers and maids surrounded her as they fanned her and fed her grapes. She was holding a picture as she reminisced the past. In her hand was a photograph framed in gold. The photograph itself didn't have good quality. It was slightly crumpled and faded. She had kept it on her as she fought her multiple battles. It was only recently that she managed to achieve some peace and place it in her room.

In the picture was a little girl and her family. Leora suddenly had tears forming in her eyes. She wanted to be at least eight feet, like her mother. However, she didn't get her wish. She got her genetics from her runt of a father. He was only six feet, like the other runts in this part of the world.

However, to her, it mattered not in the end. She loved her father. In the picture, she and her mother leaned on him. She remembered the feel of his gigantic muscles and felt proud. "It ain't muscle if there are no muscles on the muscle," her father used to say.

She believed his saying as evidenced on the picture. She was carrying a 300-pound barbell that was bent at the shaft. She was a bit too playful then, and accidentally bent it. She remembered how her mother chided her with "That was good equipment" while her father would quip proudly with "She has my strength."

Her mother was a proud Amazonian who could carry 600 pounds in one hand. Her father came from a long line of bodybuilders (which apparently altered their genes according to a few doctors) and could do the same. Her mother would tell her, "That's why my tribe allowed me to marry him and why I fell in love with him. The perseverance of each generation of his ancestors actually altered their DNA, and he definitely had their perseverance."

A butler handed her a handkerchief which she used to wipe her tears. She had to leave the Amazonian forest. Even though her father assured her that she was always strong enough for him, she knew that she hadn't proven her worth to the tribe. "I'll eventually come back, mother and father. I'm getting strong." She clenched her fists in silent determination. The air from from one of her punches could make twenty prison guards fly now. Eventually, she would be strong enough.

Hillbilly Queen

Leora's forays in the urban city of Seattle didn't often go so well. Sure, she whored many-a-Durden. She made sure that many married and unmarried citizens of Seattle got to satisfy their craving for spiky hair, skinny frames, and minion-like subservience. In fact, her popularity was so good that Robert Paulson was her main whore. Whenever she gave away prizes, she had him deliver their credits and perks, and made sure to have Robert subtly offer his moobs too.

However, it wasn't all fun and games for our hillbilly queen. She had stayed for quite some time in Seattle, but there were some subtleties she had missed, and regretted quite dearly. She threw an upper cut at a mail box beside her. It flew across the street, hit a lamp post, and may have killed a bunch of unemployed bodyguards. She had choked during the recent war, and she couldn't get quite over it.

She looked to the Seattle airport. She had run many drugs, but she had forgotten one thing. She could board first class without waiting. She just had to make sure that she had enough money to grease some palms. Instead, she ended up stuck in a city, helpless, as she watched the happenings of the day.

She sighed. It was over. Nothing of consequence happened because of it. She stomped on the ground to release just a bit more of her pent-up frustration. The ground quaked for a bit, and the news stations later blamed the seismologists for not detecting a fault line near Seattle. She'll just have to do better next time.

Transgender Goes off on Comic Book Store Employee

Leora had often been misgendered, especially in the 1930's. First, it was in an auto supplies store. Now, it was in a comic books store.

"You will give me my fucking money back," she demanded from the employee.

"Excuse me sir," softly interrupted an old lady. "There's a kid in here. Watch your mouth or I can call the police if you'd like me to. You need to settle down."

"It's ma'am," Leora yelled at her. "It is ma'am. You need to settle down and mind your business. Okay?"

"Both of you guys-" said the employee.

"Ma'am. Once again, ma'am."

"I said both of you-" said the employee as he gestured to both the lady and Leora.

"No! You said sir. Once again it's ma'am."

"I said both of you guys. In general."

"Right beforehand, you fucking said sir!"

"Sir-" the employee tried to appease Leora.

"MOTHERFUCKER! Take it outside, and I'll show you a fucking sir! If you want to call me a sir again, I will show you a fucking sir."

"I apologize-"

"MOTHERFUCKER!" Leora yelled as she unholstered her H&R from the back of her pants.

"I need your wallet. I was misgendered seven times in this store."

"I apologize for that."

"I need your wallet. Now."

"I can get that for you if you'd like. I'm gonna ask you to calm down and stop cussing."

"Give me your wallet. I'm not cussing," she started calmly. "I'm gonna ask you for the fifth time to stop calling me a sir because quite clearly I am not!"

"Then I apologize. I'm sorry for that ma'am. I will get you that wallet. I'm gonna ask you to stop cussing."

"Get it for me now. I'm not cussing. I'm not cussing. Give me the damn wallet now. Please," Leora whispered.

"Okay-"

"AWOOOOO!" Leora yelled as she threw her hands up. "HAAAAA!"

"I apologize ma'am. I will get you that wallet. Right now."

"You're just gonna keep bumping your gums and disrespecting trans people in this store, which I plan on telling the entire LGBT mafioso community. You're gonna lose money over this," Leora gave her final words as she pointed her H&M at the employee. Bang. Leora left the store with the employee's wallet.

Many people joked about Leora's masculinity and criticized her violent actions. However, there were a few who admired it.

The Queen of the Durden Whores

In Harlem, New York, there was a powerful woman who ran many gambling operations. She was an activist for the black community. She resisted much of the mafia during the prohibition, and never came under it. She was especially successful in the numbers game and was known as the "Queen of the Policy Rackets". Her other nicknames include "Queenie", "Madam Queen", and "Madam St. Claire".

Leora admired the woman who coincidentally shared the same name as her. It really was a coincidence. When Leora moved to the US and changed her name, she just thought that her name sounded pretty. Who knew that another person shared it and was actually quite inspiring. She had already been called "Queen" and "Queenie", but she wouldn't mind being called "Madam Queen" and "Madam St. Claire" too. She had a casino recently, but she was known more for whoring Durds. So, she would like to be called "Queen of the Durden Whores".

She stepped on Robert Paulson, who as usual, admired her. She sat on a large golden chair with many cushions. It wasn't an official throne, but as far as she was concerned, it was. Many Durdens surrounded her. They had their usual spiky hair and thin constitutions. They looked subserviently at her as a customer came into her brothel.

"I'd like Tyler Durden, please," he asked. Leora sighed. Many of her customers wanted Tyler Durden, but it wasn't very easy to get him. He also always had the knack of getting shot. However, today was a lucky day.

"You heard her," Leora commanded Tyler. Tyler looked at her with a rebellious look. Leora was sure that there were two personalities in the man. On normal days, he went as a normal everyman. He did his eight to five job and was subject to the whims of the world, but not his own. Now though, he was a hot hunk who both men and women wanted.

Tyler spat on the ground but obeyed Leora. Leora was sure that the man who ordered for Tyler Durden would be pleased.

The Eight-handed Sunlight Buddha

Mafioso all over the country gathered at what people called "The Lounge". Not many knew exactly where it was. Some people said it was in Delaware, the same place where the Durden crew hailed. Some people said that there was no exact location. It changed every day to avoid the local law enforcement. However, the determined mafioso could easily access it, if they wanted to "chat".

The lounge was a mystical place. Squishy, or at least that's what people called him, ran it. He often wore the cloak of the grim reaper and carried with him his scythe, that had claimed many lives over the years. Few people had seen his face, and those who knew it had bloodlines that were ancient and had mafioso for many, many generations. Squishy was perhaps the God of the mafioso themselves, or just the most powerful and everlasting mafioso. He was definitely the start of all mafioso on the streets, and perhaps the end of them all. Many people revered him or hated him, loving him for his generosity, or hating him for his supervision. However, nobody doubted that he was the most powerful person in this thing of ours. No godfather defied his rule too much, and those who did were gone, along with their bloodlines.

Squishy, being Richer than God (if it made sense to be richer than himself), often gave out credits, bars of gold that all used as currency. Corrupt Agents, mafioso who were looking to give inheritance to their future kin, Durdens, new thugs on the street, and all mafioso acknowledged it. Squishy, or his futuristic Mr. Bot (nobody knew how the extent of his technological wealth), often threw the bars at chatty, or especially noisy, mafioso. He liked to make them shut up for just a second.

Occasionally, a roguette or rogue would show up, trying to disturb the rest of the mafioso. The mafioso, not disturbed at all, would go silent and take out their guns. The roguette or rogue would die in a minute, and they would be happy and satisfied that they had a chance to practice. Many people knew that Mr. Bot caught naughty no-name mafioso from the streets. He would bring them to the lounge, offer them a vain chance at life, if they could escape "The Lounge". No roguette or rogue ever did.

Leora was a regular in "The Lounge". In fact, she had a bit of infamy. When Squishy or Mr. Bot threw out gold bars, she would suddenly be enlightened. Many mafioso would swear that a small sun would shine behind her head, and she would suddenly have eight hands. She had caught many gold bars that were perhaps headed to other mafioso. And many people knew that if she were there, they would have only a minuscule chance. She would give a slight smile and clasp her hands with a bow, outwardly hoping for peace but inwardly rejoicing their misery.

Leora didn't have much talent in shooting at a roguettes or rogues. She always swore how the wind from the airconditioner would suddenly tickle her neck (and she would have to scratch it), a wine glass would fall over her shirt, or an earthquake would happen (only in her vicinity and not the others), when rogues or roguettes showed up. She would only get to shoot them whenever most mafioso were asleep, and the half-asleep mafioso were otherwise occupied.

Leora had slowed down in her credit grabbin bastardly ways. She had enjoyed the streets and the lounge a bit of too much in the past few weeks, but she had gone back to studying Japanese and going to the gym. However, there was always the legend of the eight-handed-sunlight buddha that always got the credits. When she was there, few could resist her holy might.